The most vivid memory I have of leaving the proverbial nest was a feeling of excruciating pain. I was not the one, who bright-eyed and radiant, left her parent's home to pursue a brilliant and happy university term. Instead, solemn despair was my companion. And after university, I found myself jobless. These factors motivated me to do two things: the free time I had let me indulge in the flourishing high art scene of my city. My father had one way of thinking: either you work or you volunteer. So I spent some hours each week volunteering for different charities. I suppose it was obvious I was in a considerable amount of emotional upset so I was given many assignments to deal with women in an unfortunate state of poverty. The choice of volunteering I was assigned to was also influenced by my own personal poverty which was considerable at the time. for this reason, I got to visit and help many women in extremely poor dwellings.
there were a variety of reasons that such women found themselves unable to cook. For this reason, an organization around the city, called Meals on Wheels, provided, for a small sum, hot meals for lunchtime. I would arrive at the assigned house, almost always to take the lady or gentlemen to a hospital appointment, and sometimes would find the meal for the day on the counter. or half-eaten on the kitchen table. Sometimes, we would be preparing for the appointment and the doorbell would ring. At the door would be an often, poorly clad, but cheery young person, with a large red box. She or he would open the box and bring out the various kinds of food for my client (to eat after our appointment). Often the delivery person arrived on a bicycle, even in the winter. She or he would wear a uniform that to me, was quite radical. Bicycle shorts over leggings with sneakers. At the time very few people wore that type of clothing except for the few daring cyclists who broke with tradition and rode their bicycles all through the snow-driven winter.
The thing that I remember most was the real, gut-wrenching poverty of the situation. My client, confused or ill, still wearing their humble morning clothes. The dusty and dark appearance of the apartments. The fact that their food arrived in humble aluminum containers added to the effect. It seemed to me that only the very poor would have the unfortunate but lucky opportunity to be able to purchase their one solid meal from Meals on Wheels.
As I fast forward many years into my life and to the present days, it has come to be that I too was offered the opportunity to benefit from the Meals on Wheels. Duly, I called them up and asked for prices. I was relieved to find that I could indeed benefit from their service. However, I had been in a residence for women for many years that did not permit me to cook my own meals. Now that it is time for me to find another home, I find myself in the rather unexpected position of being too poor to qualify for meals on wheels. Why? Well, to occupy me and keep the old moral up I have been working on my own company. I have now, as has been suggested, created a fairly large bank of artwork to sell. therefore I am looking for a space in which I can continue my business. And the places I have found after a rather lengthy search to date, all demand that you must purchase a fridge and a stove.
My brother has suggested starting purchasing things like furniture and fridge, a little at a time to release the financial burden. But if you do not have a fridge or a stove, then you cannot take advantage of Meals on Wheels. So I am too poor to qualify for Meals on Wheels. Life deals you some unusual cards sometimes.
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